


Forgive Me, Father

by 1800areyouslapping



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sinfulness, Vaginal Sex, gratuitous use of religious phrases/words, priest!gabe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1800areyouslapping/pseuds/1800areyouslapping
Summary: Gabriel Reyes is your church's most beloved local priest, and boy do you have the biggest crush on him.





	Forgive Me, Father

Lord, forgive you. This is wrong. So, so wrong. Never did you think you’d be going to church, sitting in the pew, fantasizing about the priest. Leaving the service with wet panties, and a racing heartbeat time and time again. You’re supposed to be going to church to absolve yourself of your sins, not to gain new ones worse than the ones you entered with.   

Never have you confessed. Walked into the confessional and laid out of your sins for the priest to reconcile you of them. Never felt the need, no matter how much your parents insisted that you keep the tradition growing up. But now; now you feel the need to walk into that confessional with much less than pure intentions.  

Yes, you feel guilty. Yes, you feel shame over your sinful fantasies about the tall, handsome, scar clad priest with a voice as savory as butter, still laced with the authority of a Commander.

A man with a past littered with war and death, trying to find peace of mind in retirement, as a man of God. He speaks of it all the time in his homilies. Most of all, you want desperately to give in to the temptation to confess to the man himself that you’ve been pleasuring yourself to thoughts of him defiling you.

Oh; Father Gabriel. Newly appointed. Just shy of a year out of seminary school. So much wiser than you, a sacrileges fixation of lustful interest. 

Just looking at him fills you with so much heat that it brings a nervous sweat to your hairline. Too skittish to look at him for long, lest one of the more seasoned priests sniff you out like a hound dog trained to scent the most depraved sins.

In your family’s tradition, you go to Mass on Sunday. When Father Gabriel comes around to hand you the wafer for Holy Communion, you’ll wish that it wasn’t out of practice for him to place it right on your tongue. 

In your mind you drop open your mouth, letting your lewd tongue lull out. Pink and eager, he places the wafer upon it, but you don’t let his hand go far. You grab his strong, muscle rich wrist and shove his fingers into your mouth. Moan and suck on them right in front of your family, the Father’s peers, and God. 

“Child?”      

Suddenly you’re yanked from your fantasy. The Father standing directly in front of you, waiting patiently for you to take the Communion. Apologising with a rich blush you take it from him. 

“No need for forgiveness,” he says with a small smirk that kills you. Causing you to press your thighs together to try and quell your pulsating clit. “We all get lost in thought sometimes.” 

You nod in agreement, of course. 

Taking a deep breath through your nose to try and stabilize your hummingbird heart rate proves to be a big mistake. Father Gabriel is wearing… cologne. Intoxicating cologne, warm and manly. Shocked because you know for a fact that’s frowned upon for a Preist, he must know it too.  

Oh, what you’d give to know what that scents called. The name, the brand. So you can buy the exact one and spritz it on your pillow. Bury your face in it and finger yourself to the thought of the Father taking you from the back. 

When Mass is over Father Gabriel goes into the confessional awaiting the sinners. You stay seated in your spot in the pew. Watching the people as they go in and shortly come back out. Working up the courage to be the next.  

Instead of giving yourself any more time to overthink it you push yourself up off of the seat. Let the Holy Ghost give you spirit and guide your heavy leaded legs to the confessional. Standing in front of the open confessional door you wish it didn’t look so righteous. Old-fashioned, red oak with intricately carved patterns that makes it look all the more holy. 

Taking a seat on the glossy, equally beautiful chair you gently shut the door. The screen between you and the Father is tightly woven, and yet, you can still smell him. That Godforsaken cologne. It fills the small space, making your head spin.

The partition slides open and you do a short prayer, touching your head and shoulders in the motion of a cross. 

“Good afternoon, Father Gabriel.” 

“Good afternoon.” 

You sigh and just get right into it. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have… never confessed before.”

“Go on, my Child.” 

 _‘I’ve been thinking about fucking you. Getting down on my knees not to pray, but to stuff my mouth full of your cock–’_ Is not what you say.

“I- I have been having… unchaste, invasive fantasies about a man, Father.” 

As it turns out, you can still see him, the mass of his body. Covered from neck to toe in black. It makes you self-conscious, dropping your gaze, you instead look at your tightly woven fingers, balled into a fist in your lap.   

“Invasive?” He questions. “Have they been interrupting your day to day life?”

“Somewhat.”  

He hums, shifts in his seat. You can’t exactly see it, but you swear he’s sitting back, getting settled in. 

“My Child, are these fantasies– immoral, unethical?” So nonchalant the tone in which he talks, unprofessional. Makes you feel as if you’re having a conversation versus a purge of your sins.   

“Without a doubt.” 

“Is he taken, married? What makes your daydreams about this man so immoral?” 

You laugh nervously, just now realizing how increasingly crazy this is. Can’t believe that the words keep flowing from your mouth. 

“In a sense, yes, I guess he’s taken.” 

“Release yourself of the guilt, my Child. Let’s start being frank.” 

Your stomach churns with anxiety. But you want this. You want to tell him, you want him to know. Heart racing so fast you can feel it beating in your ears. Your breathing is so heavy and loud, Father Gabriel must hear it. Whining a little you lick your lips, swallow to try and bring some moisture back into your mouth. 

“He is taken by the church, Father… a man of God.” 

Father Gabriel falls silent, for much longer than is comfortable for you. You’re suddenly afraid that you’ve made a grave mistake. Being a man with a tactical background he must be able to connect the dots. Judge from your nervousness that your speaking about him, even if you haven’t explicitly said it. Besides, there is no other man in this church that even comes close to his rugged good looks. 

Giving in, you break the silence. “Father, I am so– so sorry. I will just… take my sins and leave-” 

“No, no,” he says. Shifts in his seat again. This time sitting forward. “Sit, stay.”

“Tell me… in detail, one of these fantasies; so that I may better understand. Then I can feel confident in giving you your penance,” he says with cool, a-matter-of-fact authority, and lilt of cheekiness.   

Your face is radiating heat. You’ve had dozens of them, and now when you’re asked to recall one, you can’t seem to bring one to mind. Taking a deep whiff of his cologne, it helps this time, clarifying you instead of mucking up your brain. 

“I have this fantasy where… I take a volunteer job here. It’s good for college credits, is at least what I tell myself. I’m dusting the antique bibles and books in the library. Y… you come in and start to comment on the short nature of my skirt; scold me. Tell me how it’s unfair for me to be wearing it around men who have vowed chastity, it’s inconsiderate. An unfair temptation for me to be inflicting upon the holy men of the church…”  

Falling silent for a moment you listen to see if Father Gabriel would like to comment. Perhaps tell you that that’s enough. He stays silent, doesn’t say a word. You can, however, hear his breathing, a little heavier than it was. And a slow, wet slicking noise. 

“Then you-you, uh… punish me– bend me over one of the tables, letting all of the sacred texts fall to the floor, pages getting bent, spines indented. But you don’t care. You spank me, tell me it’s what I deserve, what sluts get for knowingly tempting priests. Once my bottom is sore and red, you give into temptation and… fuck me– right then and there. Telling me that is is all my fault that you have broken your vow to God.” 

Gabriel grunts lowly from behind the screen. You lean in closer because you desperately want to see. See and be sure that your imagination isn’t just running away with you. Letting you believe what you want to believe. 

Even though the tightly woven screen you can see it. Father Gabriel’s cock in his closed fist, languidly stroking himself. You were already uncomfortably wet, and now you’re painfully turned on. Feeling a persistent ache in your pussy. His length would fill it nicely, stretch you open and reach deep. 

“You touch yourself to these fantasies?” he asks. 

“Nearly every night, Father.” 

Suddenly he leans forward. His free palm thudding flat up against the wall keeping you from him. Even after everything you’ve confessed you still can’t find it in yourself to be as shameless as he is being. You want to rub your engorged nub so badly you can’t sit still in your seat, but you can’t bring yourself to just slip your hand between your legs. 

Gabriel grunts, slams his palm down on the wall, causing you to jump in your seat, startled.    

“For your penance-” He sighs deeply, chuckles before being able to get his thoughts in order- “I want you to abstain from touching yourself ‘til the next time you come back to Confession, on your usual day of Worship. Be the last next time, understand?” 

“Perfectly, Father.” 

“Good, now go– we won’t bother with Contrition; we both know you’re not sorry.”

* * *

Six days have never felt so long. Week after week you abstain, and every week you go back to confession. You never thought you’d look forward to church as much as you do now. Never thought that you’d see the day when it stopped becoming a moral obligation to attend and became more morally sound for you _not_  to go. 

You have plenty of time to think during the six days that you keep your hands from yourself. To dream and fantasize, rather. The Father will want to hear more fantasies… confessions, and  _phew_  have you got a couple of good ones for him today. 

Addmidetly, the first time you had come back you had an underlying fear that by the time you saw him again he would have changed his mind. Seen the error of his ways. Felt the weight of Catholic guilt, and decided against being the Priest in the confessional that day. But time after time that’s never the case. 

The fears were quickly washed away by not-so-fleeting glances during his homily. By the not-so-accidental glide of his fingertips along your hand as he handed you Communion. The way Gabriel loomed over you, boring lust into you while you placed the wafer on your tongue and threw back the wine.    

Now you know the drill. Service is over and you just have to wait, sit and wait and wait while the people walk in and out of the confessional. 

Finally, it’s just you. Just you sitting in the empty church. Even the other Priests have left the altar, moved on with their day. 

The lead that first weighed down your legs has long since left, now continuously replaced by fuzz, full of tingles. Entering the confessional, before you can take a seat or even reach for the door, Father Gabriel slides in the small space with you. Looks around momentarily and closes the door. 

“Uh- ah, Father? You’re on the wrong side.” 

He spins around smirking at your comment. Gabriel’s presence so close and so overwhelming, all of his height and bulk nearly taking up the entirety of the space. It’s impossible for you not to touch him, to feel the fabric of his cassock, the hard war-worn body that hides underneath it. 

It only takes one step for him to have you backed up against the wall. Reaching out he flips up your skirt and shoves his hand into your underwear. Slips a couple of fingers in between your sopping slick folds. Gabriel’s hand is warm, calloused, makes you feel weak in the knees. Instantaneously you moan, his hand feels so good, already relieving some of the aches. 

“Shhh,” he coos. “Ever had this fantasy?” he asks, gesturing towards the general vicinity of the confessional. 

Quickly you search your mind and find that shockingly, no you haven’t. Shaking your head no you take your bottom lip in between your teeth in an effort to keep your mouth shut. 

Though he has other plans for keeping you quiet; he kisses you fiercely, growling and pressing his tongue against your tightly closed lips. 

Gabriel lifts you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, lock-in and welcome his fingers inside of your body with a tight, wanting clench of your cunt. Open your mouth and welcome his tongue in as well. Buck your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers ‘til he’s cruel enough to take them away from you.   

In one swift motion, he sits down on the chair. Just as swiftly, you straddle his hips and grind. Fumble around with the buttons at the crotch of his cassock. Eager to get at what is creating such a delectably big bulge. 

You’ve wanted this for so long you’ve just got no more where-with-all to think about it. Taking his thick girth in your hand you pull it out and stroke fervently a few times before the Father lifts you up, using one hand gripping the meat of your ass, and pulls your panties to the side with his other. You line up his cock with your slick entrance and Gabriel drops you down on it. 

The stretch and the burn feels so, fucking, good. So good it threatening to push a wail from deep within your belly, bating it back through clenched teeth and a death grip of the cloth of his chest. 

Gabriel scoots forward in the chair, splays his legs for leverage. You let yourself sink down and down ‘til your flush with his lap, and full to the brim. A near uncomfortable pressure in your core, until he pulls you in again for a mouth consuming kiss and starts bucking up inside of you. 

Already your thighs are starting to shake, the pressure and heat bringing on what feels like is going to be a body shattering orgasm. 

“Enjoying being Satan’s whore?” The Father asks in a gruff whisper against your agape mouth. 

Shaking your head, no, you chase his lip with a bite and say, “No- but I live to be yours.”  

The declaration gives him new gusto, enough fire in his gut to be brutal to the point of recklessness. Reckless because you’re so wet, and the faster he goes the more noise your bodies make. Risky because no matter how hard Gabriel’s kissing you, or how you try to keep it down, the powerful orgasm spreading through your hips and belly just won’t allow for the silence.   

Even when the swell of it passes your pink can’t seem to stop fluttering around him. At least now you’re able to clamp your mouth shut, focus a little more on being quiet, and just let him use you to come to his own end as harshly as the good Father pleases. 

Suddenly he throws his head back. Rich, strong veins in his neck bulging, teeth bared as he stares not really at but somewhere beyond the ceiling. “God; fuck-” he says through a growl. Gabriel’s cock expanding and spurting rich, white mess deep inside of your body. Gripping your ass so strongly you can already feel the bruises coming to the surface of the delicate skin.  

When he’s done cumming you’re both still panting, looking at eachother with white-hot fever. Very slowly he lifts you up enough to slip his length out. Inch by inch making sure to readjust your underwear, keeping evidence from falling onto his deep black cassock. Instead, allowing it to seep out into your underwear where it is safe. Something for you to take home to remember him by.  

Neither of you is nearly close to tired or want to be done, but you’ve already pressed your good graces far enough, and six days really isn’t all that long.  

 

 


End file.
